


It's Complimentary

by parsnipit



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders RPF, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Coffeeshop AU, Fluff, M/M, and there's not much prinxiety but it's kind of there, kinda sorta, relationships can be seen as romantic or platonic, whatever you prefer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 05:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11098152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parsnipit/pseuds/parsnipit
Summary: Morality decides that the mindscape could use a coffeeshop, and when he starts giving out “complimentary” coffees things take a turn for the better. Anxiety adores reading the little compliments Morality leaves on his napkins (although he’ll never admit it) but discovers that running the coffeeshop has been more of a burden on Morality than he’d like to admit.





	It's Complimentary

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: panic attack, self-dislike, swearing

The coffeeshop is a result Prince’s daydreaming, Morality’s adoration of all things cheerful and warm, Logic’s illogical love of strong and caffeinated beverages, and Anxiety’s uncharacteristic lenience. Ordinarily, he’d protest any of the valuable space in the mindscape being taken up by something as trivial as a coffeeshop, of all things, but, well—the others seem to like it, and it keeps them out of his hair more often than not.

He may also be partial to the flavor Morality’s coffee.

So he doesn’t complain, and he watches the coffeeshop grow. It’s a small, tidy affair. Most of it is built of warm, dark-colored wood. There are framed pictures of Thomas, Thomas’ friends, and the sides themselves scattered across the walls. The menu is written on a blackboard above the counter, and scattered amongst the various food and drink names are messages written in blue chalk and Morality’s atrocious handwriting— _you look good today_ and _smile!_ and _you made my day better just by being in it :)_

It’s pathetically adorable, and Anxiety certainly doesn’t have to fight back a half-smile every time he steps inside the shop. He _doesn’t._

Usually Anxiety times his visits so he arrives when the other sides—save Morality—aren’t around. Prince hangs out in the early mornings hours, and Logic in the evening hours, which means Anxiety gets the afternoon. That’s alright with him. Everything is slow in the afternoons, and the shop is peaceful and sun-dappled.

Today, when he steps inside, Morality isn’t at the counter. Anxiety can hear the click of ceramic mugs and the gentle burble of boiling water from the back room, however, so he knows the shop isn’t empty. He stands in front of the counter, rocking back and forth on his heels, and waits. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

As he waits, however, his eyes are drawn to the glass display of pastries beside the counter. Cinnamon rolls with thick white icing, flaky blueberry scones, miniature apple pies, rich chocolate donuts, golden croissants, tiny honey-drizzled muffins—he can feel his stomach starting to growl inquisitively. That’s weird. He’s usually never hungry.

Well, he’s not going to scorn his appetite once it shows up.

“Hey, Anxiety,” Morality says, beaming at him as he exits the back room and moves to stand behind the counter. His apron is streaked with powdered sugar and chocolate syrup and his hair is fluffed by the heat of the kitchen, but he looks like there’s no place he’d rather be. “How are you today?”

“Fine,” Anxiety says. Then, because it’s polite, and because he actually kind-of, sort-of adores likes Morality, he adds, “How are you?”

“Couldn’t be better, kiddo. So what can I do you for?”

“Can I have one of your pies?”

“You most certainly can, but I must say you’re taking me _pie_ surprise,” Morality says, grinning cheekily. “You never buy my food.”

Anxiety says, voice dry, “It’s a day to do dangerous things.”

“That’s my kind of day,” Morality says, grinning and handing him one of the little apple pies. “You want coffee with that?”

“No thanks.”

Morality clutches a hand to his heart. “Eating food _and_ not ordering coffee? I can’t _espresso_ how worried I’m getting.”

Anxiety snorts and takes his pie (sans coffee) to his favorite spot—a dark armchair in a cozy nook beside the fireplace. The chair faces outward, and it’s crammed into a corner, so he has a view of the entire shop and its comings and goings, or lack thereof. He sits on the arm of the chair, one leg drawn to his chest and the other dangling over the side to balance himself against the floor.

He waits until he hears Morality slip into the back room again before he starts eating—god, does he hate eating in front of people. Luckily, since only Thomas and the other sides ever visit this place, it doesn’t happen often. He nibbles away the outer crust of the pie first, savoring the warm crunch under his teeth. When he reaches the filling, it’s hot and flavored sharply with cinnamon and nutmeg.

It’s gone quickly—Morality _is_ the best chef in the mindscape—and he eyes the remaining pastries. Should he get another one? But no. That would make him seem greedy. What would Morality think? He licks the remaining crumbs off of his lips and then looks over his chair, making sure it’s as clean as it was when he sat down.

He’s just started relaxing, pulling out his phone to spend a few hours scrolling through Tumblr in the warm peace of the shop, when he hears Morality’s footsteps approaching. Anxiety glances up to see him holding out a familiar black MCR mug with a napkin folded neatly inside of its handle.

“Here,” Morality says, setting the mug on the table next to Anxiety’s chair. “In case you change your mind and want something to drink. It’s fine if you don’t, though—just leave it there when you go. It’s no problem.”

Anxiety can no more turn it down than he could lead Thomas into danger. Offending people he likes, whether by asking for or turning away too much or too little, grates against his nature. So he accepts the coffee, but he says, “You really didn’t have to.”

“It’s complimentary,” Morality says, winking and returning to the counter.

Anxiety untucks the napkin from the mug’s handle and sips—the coffee is rich and sweet, and he sighs happily. The next few hours are a haze of calm and hot coffee and Tumblr shitposts. By the four o’clock, right around the time Logic should be arriving, Anxiety’s feeling more comfortable than he has in a while. If only it could stay that way.

It won’t, but it’s a nice thought.

He’s just about to tuck his napkin into his empty mug when he notices a strange mark on it. He unfolds it, something he had yet to do, since he didn’t generally need a napkin with his coffee. There, on the corner, is a message in bright blue ink. _Thanks for hanging with me today, champ! You’re the best!_

Anxiety feels his face heating and he ducks it, glancing surreptitiously in Morality’s direction. The other side is humming under his breath, wiping down the counter and looking up every few minutes at the door—waiting, no doubt, for Logic’s arrival. Should he say something? Thank you, or a return compliment, or—or _something?_

But nothing he could say sounds good enough. Running through sentences in his head, they all sound stilted and forced. And it’s probably better to say nothing then to say something stupid, right? He can just pretend he never saw the message. Although then he’d have to refold the napkin, and give it back with his mug, and he kind of—kind of wants to keep the napkin.

Well, shit.

Anxiety tucks the napkin into his pocket and sets his mug on the counter. “Thanks for the food,” he says. Steeling himself, he adds, “And the coffee.”

It’s not quite an acknowledgement, but it’s close, and the smile Morality gives him makes it worthwhile. “Anytime,” Morality says. “See you tomorrow?”

“Maybe.”

But they both know he’ll be back if there’s not a panic attack at his throat or an immediate emergency for him to deal with in regards to Thomas. He ducks out of the shop, listening to the merry chime of the bell above the door, and takes a moment to enjoy Morality’s area of the mindscape—sunshine and birdsong and gentle breezes. Then he sinks down, hopping into the more comfortable area of the mindscape that belongs solely to him.

As he walks down the long, narrow path that leads to his house—shaded by ominously rattling trees, call him cliché—he pulls the napkin out of pocket. He runs his thumb over the letters in the corner, feeling the slight indentation there and momentarily reveling in the strange, slow way his heart turns over in his chest.

He’s happy. He’s happy, that’s—that’s nice.

In the safety of his own home, he allows himself to smile. The empty rooms don’t smile back at him, but they don’t mock him, either, and that’s enough. He folds the napkin up gently and tucks it into _Black Cauldron_ ’s DVD case _._

When he returns to the coffeeshop the next day, he is—much as he tries to convince himself not to be—hopeful. He wants another one of those stupid little messages. He knows it was probably a one-off thing, and that Morality won’t want to waste his time scribbling on Anxiety’s napkin ever again, but—but he hopes against hope and, for a moment, he thinks he might actually understand Prince and all his delusions of grandeur.

That moment is rapidly and utterly destroyed when he steps into the coffeeshop and finds aforementioned side sitting at the counter, talking to Morality. As Anxiety steps inside, that damn bell announcing his presence, both of them glance in his direction. Prince’s eyes are bright and curious, and Anxiety realizes, for a brief second, what it would be like to have Prince look at him if he were anything but a bad side.

And then—as per usual—Prince’s gaze sharpens when he recognizes who he’s looking at. “Oh,” he says. “It’s you.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Anxiety says, narrowing his eyes. Afternoons are _his_ time, not Princey’s.

“I didn’t realize we followed timetables now, nitpick.”

“Hey, Anxiety,” Morality says, waving happily at him. “Come sit. Roman’s telling me about the quest he went on this morning. He wouldn’t mind if you listened in, right, Roman?”

“Well, if you insist. I must admit that it is an impressive tale,” Prince says, preening. “However, I must also warn you that it might be a little bit intimidating, for one of your, er, stature.”

Anxiety scowls and takes a seat at the counter, leaving a pointed space between himself and Prince. “I really doubt anything _you_ dream up is going to scare me.”

“That’s not what you say every time I come with an idea that Thomas agrees with.”

“That’s because there’s a difference between reality and daydreams, Princey. Anyway, I didn’t come here to listen to you blabber. Get on with it. Mo, can I have a coffee?”

Morality slides Anxiety his MCR mug, and a napkin is conspicuously absent. Anxiety feels his heart sink. No napkin, _and_ he has to share his coffeeshop time with Prince? Ridiculously disappointing. But is there any other kind of day?

Prince goes on to detail the morning’s quest—dragons and princesses again, how original—for the next half-hour, leaving Anxiety to brood over his cup of coffee and his lack of Morality’s attention. When he finishes his drink, Morality whisks both his and Prince’s mugs away and refills them in the back room.

It is with conflicted emotions that Anxiety notices the napkins tucked into both mugs’ handles when Morality slides them back onto the counter. On one hand, _he gets another napkin._ On the other hand, so does Prince. Neither of them reaches to unfold the napkin immediately, nor do they mention it, and Prince carries on with his story as though there isn’t a sudden elephant in the room.

Anxiety’s fine with that, to be quite honest.

Once Prince has finished his story and his coffee, Anxiety sees him tuck the napkin into his pocket as he leaves. Anxiety, when Morality has slipped into the back room again, does the same thing. His fingers run continually over the napkin as he retreats from the counter to his armchair and pulls out his phone.

Morality doesn’t mention the napkins, so Anxiety doesn’t feel like he should, either. Although when he takes his leave a couple of hours after Prince, he makes sure he thanks Morality for the coffee again—that, at least, is something he can do without making his heart feel like it’s going to beat itself into oblivion.

Once he’s back in his realm of the mindscape, he unfolds the napkin and rakes his eyes over the message there. _Thanks for hanging out with Prince today. I know you two don’t always get along, so it means a lot that you could for a little while!_

He nurses the warm, blooming feeling that forms in his chest after he reads that for as long as he can and resolves to try to get along with Prince a little more—not for Prince’s sake, of course, but for Morality’s. It seems like an equal trade-off for the pleasant flutter in his heart these silly messages bring.

The next few weeks pass in a blur of similar messages— _your eyeshadow is on point today, bud!_ and _thanks for being such a good listener this afternoon!_ and _have I told you your jokes are great, scamp? because they are!_

It’s ridiculous, but it becomes something of a routine. Every time Anxiety goes to the coffeeshop, he anticipates the refill that will bring him a napkin. He collects each and every one, folding them into neat little squares and squirreling them away inside _Black Cauldron’_ s case. Whenever he feels particularly down, or his heart starts tap-tapping that uneven rhythm inside his chest that signals the rise of irrational fears, he’ll pull them out and read back over them.

They can’t stop his panic attacks, of course, but they do help—some days more than others.

Once, he’s curled up at his computer desk in the middle of the afternoon, sitting utterly and entirely still and freaking out about _literally nothing._ His breath comes hot and fast in his lungs, his heart feels as though it’s beating hard enough to bruise his ribcage, and his joints feel stiff and locked with fear. Energy is a wire strung throughout his body, pulling his muscles tight and urging him to escape.

But where could he escape to? What is he even escaping _from?_

His fingers shake, and in between all of his sharp-edged thoughts comes an idea, softer and warmer and more hopeful than the ones that want to drive him to his knees. _The napkins._

He bolts to his bedroom and sits on the floor, fumbling to open _Black Cauldron._ When it finally snaps apart, the napkins flutter to the ground in a flurry of white paper and blue ink. He scrambles to grab one—any one will do at this point—and despite his trembling hands, he forces himself to unfold it gently. He won’t tear it. He _won’t._

_You’re really sweet sometimes, you know that?_ the napkin reads.

He’s not. He’s really not. But he curls over the napkin and breathes in shuddering gulps and tries to believe he is. He reaches for another.

_Your smile is absolutely adorable! I love seeing it :)_

He bares his teeth at the floor and listening to the ugly wet sound of his gasps. He doesn’t smile. He can’t.

He reaches out again.

_You’ve been working really well with Thomas lately. I’m so proud!_

Working well with Thomas is not working with Thomas at all, for him. He should just stay away. All he does is fuck stuff up.

Another napkin.

_I love your laugh and the fact that I get to hear it <3 _

His laugh is stupidstupidstupid what is Morality _saying?_

Another one.

_I’m glad I get to spend my afternoons with you! You brighten up my day, sugarshine!_

What kind of a dumbass nickname—whatever.

Another.

_Logan was telling me about one of your debates the other day. You’re both so smart!_

He’s not, he’s not, he’snothe’snot _he’snot._

Anxiety squeezes his eyes shut and presses one of the napkins to his mouth and nose, filtering his rapid breaths through it. It smells like coffee and baking bread and Morality. It smells like safety.

It’s not enough, of course. It’s never enough. But it is something, and it helps his breathing to slow and his thoughts to file themselves down into something less razor-sharp and terrified. When it’s over and done, he refolds each and every napkin—the task is simple and basic enough to soothe him—and tucks them back into the DVD case.

He forces himself up off of the floor and stretches. His muscles still tremble, and his mind feels bruised and sore and dangerous, but for the moment he doesn’t feel like vomiting out of fear. He grabs a drink from the kitchen and sips it gingerly, glancing at the clock. It’s already late afternoon. Morality will have missed him at the shop.

He considers going—he can grab a cup of coffee, maybe, make up some bullshit excuse about why he’s late—but then decides not to. His fear is still too close and too wary to let him leave the quiet, familiar safety of his own realm in the mindscape. He spends the rest of the day holed up in his house, comforting himself with his own homemade coffee (nowhere near as good as Morality’s) and a few Disney movies.

When he steps outside of his house the next morning, he finds a small Tupperware container on his doorstep. There’s a miniature apple pie inside, and folded in the corner is a napkin. That should overjoy him, so why—why does his heart feel like it’s tearing itself to pieces?

He eats the pie—it’s cold and slightly stale, so it probably sat out on his doorstep all night, but at the moment he thinks he’s never tasted anything better. As he eats, he unfolds the napkin and reads over the message. _Hey, kiddo. I missed you at the shop today. It’s totally fine if you need some time for yourself, of course! I look forward to seeing you again, though. You make my days better <3 _

Ridiculous. Morality is just—just ridiculous. (That doesn’t stop stupid, hot tears from welling up in his eyes when he reads the message, though.)

He goes to the coffeeshop that day filled with tentative determination—he has to do something nice for Morality. He _has_ to. He can’t just let all of Morality’s little kindnesses go unrewarded, and saying _thanks for the coffee_ can’t possibly cut it. To keep ignoring how fucking happy Morality’s stupid notes—no, how fucking happy _Morality_ makes him—would be a shitty thing to do. And he is a shitty person, okay, he knows that, but—but he doesn’t _want_ to be.

So he bolsters up what little courage he has and steps into the coffeeshop. “Hey, Morality, sorry I wasn’t—Morality?”

Morality is sitting at the counter, his back to the door and shoulders hunched. That, in itself, is strange—Morality is always on the other side of the counter, taking orders and smiling and brewing coffee. What’s more alarming, however, are the heart-wrenching noises coming from him. He’s crying. Morality is—is crying.

“Mo?” Anxiety hesitates. Should he step closer? Should he leave? What would make Morality most comfortable? “Are you okay?”

Morality scrubs an arm across his eyes and glances over his shoulder. His eyes and nose are red, tears stick to his lashes, and his hair is ruffled. His glasses have been set off to the side, and the look in his eyes makes Anxiety’s heart hurt. “Anxiety?”

“Yeah. Do you—can I do something, or should I just—”

Morality twists around on the barstool and opens his arms, a pleading sort of hope in his eyes. Anxiety’s no good at hugs, or physical contact of any kind, really, but for Morality—yeah. Yeah, he can do that. He closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around Morality’s neck, feeling the other side slump against him.

Anxiety runs his fingers through Morality’s hair—he likes that, and Thomas likes that, so maybe Morality will like it too?—and feels Morality’s arms tighten around his waist. What should he say? He knows what he would want someone to say to him during a panic attack, but this is different. Right? Should he say something cheesy and comforting? Make a joke? Or would that be trivializing? Should he press for answers or just—just wait and hope?

Fortunately, Morality makes the decision for him. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he says, his voice muffled by Anxiety’s jacket. “Nobody came yesterday, and Prince didn’t come this morning, and I thought—I thought you guys were mad, I thought you’d all decided to stop visiting me, I thought—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re not mad. I mean, I’m not mad, and I’m sure the others aren’t, either. I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday.”

Morality sniffled, his fingers clutching convulsively at Anxiety’s back. “Not your fault. You don’t have to be here every day. I just—I just—this is where everybody sees me, and I didn’t see any of you yesterday, and I—I thought you all hated me, thought I’d done something wrong—”

“Shh, shh, no. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Anxiety moves his hand to scratch through the soft, downy hairs at the nape of Morality’s neck. Morality’s fears are irrational, sure, but Anxiety of all people knows how very rational they can _feel,_ and nobody said the heart was rational, anyway.

Morality’s grip on him tightens, and Anxiety tucks his chin over Morality’s head. “I feel bad,” Morality says, so fucking open and honest, and Anxiety closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Anxiety murmurs. Guilt writhes in his chest. He should have come yesterday, panic attacks be damned. “If I’d known I would have come right away.”

Morality shakes his head and pulls back. “No. It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. I don’t want apologies or—or anything, I just want—I want to be around you guys. Ever since I made this place, I feel like I’ve seen less and less of you all.”

“What do you mean?” Anxiety says, frowning. “Don’t you usually see us all once a day?”

“Yeah, but that’s just it. I only—”

The door to the shop suddenly flies open, and Prince struts in. His mouth is already open—probably preparing to spew some stupid, boastful thing—but he shuts it when he sees them. He pauses for a moment, and Anxiety sees anger creep into his eyes. Ever since Morality had started handing out note-napkins, the two of them had had a tentative truce—hell, at times Prince even said _nice_ stuff to him.

But now—now that familiar disgust is back in his eyes.

Anxiety didn’t miss it at all.

“Anxiety?” Prince says. “What the hell did you do?”

Anxiety whirls on him, hackles rising, and feels Morality’s hand snag the back of his hoodie. So much for getting along. So much for _friends._ “What did _I_ do? _I_ was helping Morality. Where were you this morning? He was waiting for you, you narcissistic asshat.”

Prince glowers at him. “Like I said, I didn’t know we ran on _timetables.”_

“It’s not like that,” Morality says, tugging desperately on Anxiety’s hoodie. “It’s not. Please don’t fight, you guys. You’ve been doing so good.”

Anxiety hesitates, torn between the part of him that avidly wants to argue with Prince and the part of him that begs him to listen to Morality. Frustrated, he turns his back on Prince and presses his palms into the wood of the counter. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter, Princey. You’re here now, so Morality can stop worrying about you hating him, right?”

“I could never hate Morality,” Prince says, an affronted hand splayed across his heart. “Why would he ever think such a thing?”

Morality reaches out to Prince, and Prince obligingly—albeit with confusion—wraps him up in a hug. “I missed you,” Morality says.

“I’m sorry?” Prince says, running a hand over Morality’s hair just like Anxiety had, damn him. “My quest began earlier than usual yesterday. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“And today? Where were you today?” Anxiety asks, furiously studying the grain of the wood beneath his hands.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Prince says scathingly. “Unless you’re going to start keeping tabs on our whereabouts, too.”

Anxiety spins around, ready to dive wholeheartedly back into their spat, but Morality jumps up from his seat to stand between them.

“Stop,” he says. “Just stop, okay? If you have to fight, then just—just take it outside. I don’t want to be around it.”

Anxiety curls back into himself, guilt resurging with a vengeance. Why can’t he ever do anything nice for Morality? Why does he always fuck everything up by—by being _him?_

Prince, too, falls back. He turns away, glaring at the coffeeshop’s menu, folding his arms behind his back. “I was waiting,” he says, after a tense pause. “That’s why I didn’t show up today. I apologize, Morality. It certainly won’t happen again.”

“Waiting?” Morality says, relaxing some and wiping the remaining tears from his eyes. “Waiting for what?”

Anxiety can see a muscle in Prince’s jaw jumping as he grinds his teeth. “I wanted to come this afternoon.”

“Why?” Morality asks.

Prince glares harder—were that possible—at the menu. “Because.”

“Because why?”

“Just because.”

Morality pauses, staring first at Prince, and then at Anxiety. His gaze darts birdlike between them, and Anxiety shuffles awkwardly. “Uh, Mo? Something you want to say?” he asks.

“No way,” Morality says, gaping at Prince. “You were—you were waiting for afternoon so you could see Anxiety, weren’t you?”

Prince’s shoulders tense. “No.”

“Come on, Morality. That’s a wild theory, even for you,” Anxiety says, scoffing.

Morality’s eyes are glittering with joy. “You _were,_ weren’t you, Roman? Oh my _goodness.”_

“It’s not like that,” Prince says, but there’s a blush rising on his face and _oh my god_ Prince wanted to see Anxiety. Sure, they’d been getting along more lately, but to have Prince actively seeking out his company—

Well, it makes something strange happen in the vicinity of his chest, not unlike what happens when he gets a note from Morality.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Prince continues, dragging his attention away from his surprise. “As you can see, the only thing I get out of being around Anxiety is an argument, so I don’t know why I’d—”

“You like arguing with him,” Morality says, squishing his hands to his cheeks. “You think it’s _fun._ Aw, that is just the cutest lil’ thing I’ve ever—”

“I’ll make a point,” Prince says, voice chilling, “not to do it again, if this is what happens.”

Morality’s face falls immediately. “No, I didn’t mean—I don’t want that. I’m sorry, Roman, I—”

Prince’s shoulders slump suddenly, his breath leaving him in a whoosh. “Sorry. Never mind, Patton. I just—I’m going to go. I’m not mad, I’m just—”

“Stay,” Anxiety says, but he refuses to meet Prince’s surprised glance. “You should stay.”

Prince hesitates, and goddamn his stupid pride—his eyes keep darting towards the doors as though leaving will spare his wounded ego. It won’t. It would make Morality feel even more like shit, though, so it’s a relief when Prince says, “Fine. Let’s have a coffee. I hear they’re complimentary.”

The dazzling smile Morality gives them nearly melts Anxiety’s heart. He gives Prince and Anxiety each a mug of coffee, and they retreat to their separate corners of the coffeeshop. It’s probably not exactly what Morality wants—which, Anxiety assumes, would be all of them sitting at the counter and chatting their cares away—but it’s the best Anxiety can do for now.

And then, to complete their strange afternoon, Logic materializes into existence in front of the counter. “Morality,” he says. “Thomas has been feeling down lately, so yesterday I endeavoured to find out why. My research took longer than expected, which is why I didn’t come see you yesterday, and for that I apologize. However, I realized something very important.”

Morality beams at him. “Afternoon, Logan. What are you doing here so early? Did you want to hang out with us too?”

Logic glances around him, eyes flicking over Prince and Anxiety. “Quite possibly,” he says, “seeing as how the source of Thomas’ dilemma falls to you.”

“Oh.” Morality’s smile falters. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be. It is all of our faults, secondarily. Looking upon past trends, I have determined that since you have constructed this coffeeshop, we seldom see each other as a group. That—”

Morality’s eyes light up. “Yes, yeah, that’s what I’ve been thinking.”

“—is detrimental to our overall wellbeing. Since we have unconsciously elected to time our visits here, it makes group discussion a rarity, as it was not when we were forced to interact in the commons at random times.”

Morality nods earnestly. “You have a plan, right?”

“I believe it would be in our best interests to, as you say, _hang out_ more as a group,” Logic says.

“Of course,” Morality says, clasping his hands together and bouncing on his toes. “That would be great.”

“And what do you two think?” Logic asks, glancing at Prince and Anxiety.

Anxiety shrugs. “If it makes Morality happy, sure.”

“A true prince must make sacrifices for his cause, so, even it involves hanging out with _him—”_ Here Prince pauses to glare at Anxiety. “—I shall do whatever it takes to insure Thomas’ happiness. How shall we do it?”

“If we all began visiting this shop at the same time, it would probably help to repair the rifts that have formed between us. That is only a starting spot, of course, but we can begin now, I suppose, since we are all here,” Logic says.

With a determined stride, Logic moves to his spot in the coffeeshop and takes a seat. None of them don’t talk—they don’t talk, but that’s okay, because it’s a start. Morality looks absolutely thrilled, and when he refills their mugs, each one has a napkin tucked into the handle.

For the first time, Anxiety doesn’t wait to leave the shop to open it. _Thank you for helping me out today! I love you <3 _

His heart flips in his chest, and he gently tears off the corner of the napkin with the message on it and slips it into his pocket. Then he pulls a black ink pen out of thin air and, in the opposite corner, he writes, _I love you too._

When Morality comes around to collect their empty mugs, Anxiety hands him the tiny, folded-up piece of napkin and offers him a half-smile. “Thanks, Morality,” he says. “My compliments to the chef.”


End file.
